


Hear it from the Grapevine People

by Bloody_Jeans



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Inanimate Objects, Awesome Baby Tooth, BAMF Toothiana, E. Aster Bunnymund Feels, E. Aster Bunnymund Has Issues, Eventual Fluff, Family Fluff, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jack Feels, Jack Has Issues, Jack is a Little Shit, Jack's Staff Saves His Ass, Jack's Staff is Sentient, Jack's Staff is a Good Parent, Let's Get the Tag Going, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious E. Aster Bunnymund, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Nicholas St. North, Protective Phil, Protective Sanderson Mansnoozie, Protective Toothiana, Romantic Fluff, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Tags May Change, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, or are they?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloody_Jeans/pseuds/Bloody_Jeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's staff is a different type of Guardian—the lowercase type, and the grapevines are just crawling all over this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Blurb:
> 
> _"Just what is it that makes Jack Frost so... everlasting?" Tooth wondered, watching the white-haired boy stroll off, staff, as always, swung over his shoulder. "Is that even the right word?"_
> 
> _Bunnymund scowled and crossed his arms. "I dunno, but I reckon that blow in has definitely got somethin' hiding up his sleeve—and I don't like it one bit."_
> 
> ["Blow in" = Aussie slang for someone who is uninvited {eg at a party} but still comes anyway.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh... this was supposed to be an easy-to-follow, fun story without any major plotlines. So why the hell did I do this to myself? Originally, there was no prologue at all, but I decided to add one just to explain some of the stuff later on (which you do not currently know, so I should shut up before I spoil something...). Anyway, this turned out horrible, but this is just for the readers who _have_ to have some sort of reasonable explanation about fantasy elements in stories. (You know who you are. -.-).
> 
> So, if you're not interested in the backstory or whatever, **YOU DO NOT HAVE TO READ THIS PROLOGUE**. THE BACKSTORY WILL PROBABLY NEVER AGAIN BE MENTIONED IN THE STORY SO LONG AS I CAN KEEP THE PLOT BUNNIES AWAY.
> 
> Okay, now you can skip to the cool first chapter once it's posted or... suffer through my writing down below...

It was never supposed to turn out this way.

In all the stories, the hero always defeated the villain in the end, even if it took decades for that to finally happen. It was never the other way around. After all, battles were told by their victors.

However, it had never really understood how awful it felt to be on the losing side, whether right or wrong. It used to believe it was right, most likely still would if it remembered exactly what its options were. It used to think that it would eventually triumph over someone it didn't recognize anymore—very familiar, always lingering at the edge of its conscious, but never a full visual.

That was back when it had _thoughts_ and _feelings_ and _beliefs_.

Back when it had a _name_.

Now, it was nothing more than a stage prop. Only slightly better than a sweeping broom, perhaps more useless. It had become an accessory of no actual value to anyone, and it could sense its own failing powers, dwindling away in the past couple units of time— _seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months_? It couldn't tell exactly.

The only relief there was, was that it could feel nothing else except itself, drifting in an empty void. There was _no pain, no happiness, no cold, no warmth_ —

That is until it suddenly _felt_.

Something small and alive and _precious_ wrapped around it— _her_. 'It' was a 'her', she found out.

But what was this encircling the bottom part of her? (What was also strange was the fact she could actually feel again after all this time—five years, to be exact. Knowing the time made her feel happy for some reason, though it didn't lessen the overwhelmingness.)

Curious, she couldn't resist hoping just one last time, gathering her senses and surging them into her face—a face she didn't remember she had before now.

Slowly, her eyes opened...

_And met a pair of young brown ones._

  


**Next Time:** _The first time it happened, Jack was eight years old, clumsy, and set on a mission in the midst of one of the deadliest snowstorms in the past three decades..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how was it?
> 
> This is my first contribution to this lovely community. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it, and please if you did, send me a review or kudos down below! Who knows... maybe the first chapter could come a little faster. *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* I'll try to make the updates either weekly or biweekly (though not posted on any specific day), but if you guys would like super long chapters, like above 2000 words, you'll have to wait like a month...
> 
> Anyway, I have no definite plot, just general ideas, but hopefully, I'll manage well enough to please everyone. (I am open to suggestions down below, just so you know!) Also, sorry for the mess of tags above. Again, I'm one of those authors who goes with the flow, even if the flow decides to short circuit their story.
> 
> Finally, thank you all for reading! Hope you continue to do so! Until next time!
> 
> -xoxo Jo


	2. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack first meets his staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and any possible mistakes. Thank you for all the feedback last chapter!! :3 I hope you enjoy! :)

The first time it happened, Jack was eight years old, clumsy, and set on a mission in the midst of one of the deadliest snowstorms in the past three decades.

Winter fell around him in thick currents, pulsing angrily, whipping at his overgrown hair, and tugging on his raggedy jacket and trousers. Jack barely noticed it. His mother was back at the cabin with his baby sister, Emma, who was just struggling through her first winter—and what a hard one it was at that.

His parents were afraid she'd get too cold—hypothermia, his father called it—and something very bad would happen to her—his mother didn't elaborate, but Jack understood better than they thought.

He was many things—a prankster, a child, a big brother, a son, a clutz—but one thing he _wasn't_ was dumb. One of the older boys in his class, before school had been cancelled for the whole season, had said his little cousin had caught the hypo-something two years ago and passed away while everyone was asleep. His aunt and uncle had woken to an unpleasant surprise in the morning.

Jack wouldn't let that happen to _his_ family. He would be the best big brother ever even if it killed him.

With his father, Jack had set out of the cabin almost an hour ago when the snow had briefly died down, going out into the woods surrounding their home to collect a lot more firewood. His father had split up from him a couple minutes ago, wanting to cover more ground before the blizzard returned full force.

Jack's task was to search the north side of the forest facing the cabin while his father would scavenge through all other directions, far more skilled at finding dry wood than the young boy who'd only gotten a brief description that night of it.

Both of them were desperate to find some way to warm Emma more. Their mother had already wrapped her up in all the available cloths she could find, including her own dress, and had snuggled the baby up to her body, but that hadn't helped much. That's when the two Overland males stopped feeling useless and started being determined to help.

It didn't matter that frostbite was slowly coming onto their fingers or that they themselves might get sick once winter passed. What mattered was saving Emma from the Thompson boy's fate two years ago.

However, unfortunately, Jack had only uncovered a couple sticks the proper size and dry enough to light. It wasn't that he hadn't searched well enough—no, Jack had peeped into every hole in every tree, shoved his hand down any crannies in the ground, scoured below all the big rocks, and even climbed to the middle layer of the thick forestry to find the driest parts.

Still, only a measly amount was currently bundled up in his arms. There wasn't much salvageable in spite of his ferocity in searching.

He hated to admit it (and he hated even more so to give up what seemed too early)—but the young boy knew it was pointless. He was wasting time now. _Something_ was better than _nothing at all_. If the blizzard decided to let loose before he reached home, all his efforts would be destroyed, and Emma would be...

No, Jack had to get home— _quickly_ —despite not having a lot of dry wood yet. _It would_ have _to be enough_ , he thought. Or hopefully, his father had found more.

The eight-year-old huddled the precious wood to his chest, hunched his shoulders, and turned around. Just as he was half-way home, the snowstorm started blowing in more, and he pushed through the opposing wind that blew him backwards occasionally. That was fine, so long as his front side—and therefore the wood—didn't get wet.

However, just as Jack was taking another step forward, another step closer to home, a sudden gust of wind blew him forward unexpectedly instead. Yelping, the boy went down on his shoulder, rolling in mid-air so the wood would be safe. As he crashed and sunk into the snowy ground, a sudden crack was heard coming from his leg, and sharp pain swept through him.

Tears filled his eyes as he struggled to sit up, ankle jutting out oddly and burning. Whirling snow blocked his vision as he looked back, but Jack could make out a large rock he hadn't before and had then tripped on. He recognized the pain shooting up from his ankle from all his dangerous escapades as an even younger kid, some of which ending in injuries like this one before he learned how to take care of himself better—either broken or sprained but _definitely_ not fit for work.

Jack struggled to sit up and glanced in front of him again. He could see a large object close by, hidden by the tops of the trees, but too wide and tall to be a tree or a boulder. It was the cabin, and it was so, so close. _Emma_ was close. He could make it if he pushed himself!

Determined, the eight-year-old hugged the bundles of dry wood tighter and searched the ground surrounding him for something similar to a cane. His hand grappled the snow below, and he let out a gasp as it met something long and hard. Tugging, Jack managed to pull out a long, gnarled branch about the height of him resembling a shepherd's crook.

The boy forced himself to stand with his makeshift cane, making sure his precious collected wood was still in tact, and tried stepping forward once. Jack stumbled onto his knees immediately, grunting, before pushing up again and forcing his way through the thick snow with a hurt ankle, going slower this time and gritting his teeth through the pain. The wind continued to oppose him, but now he had a helping hand and was able to go on further.

Soon, the cabin came within his sight, and the boy hurried his pace, tripping again and again but staying upright. Jack let out a triumphant shout, laughing in relief, as he spotted his mother running out of the cabin.

"Jack!" she yelled, dashing over to him as fast as she could. The eight-year-old fell to knees before her, grinning as he presented the bundle of dry wood. His mother accepted the gift with happy tears in her eyes.

However, her attention immediately shifted back to her son as he collapsed onto his side with a croak, wrapping his body around his long, make-do cane. "Jack!" she cried out.

The last thing the eight-year-old saw was his father rushing out from the woods behind the cabin, approaching them within seconds. A large and familiar hand soon grasped Jack's cold cheek, and a gruff voice murmured, "It's okay, Jack. You're safe now." His voice cracked. 

"You've done good, my boy."

A sudden weightlessness overtook the child as he was picked up, and Jackson Overland finally allowed himself to drift with a faint smile gracing his blue lips.

  


"Anything new?"

"No. Things are just too dull these days."

"Agreed."

"Well, actually, there is one thing..."

"Oh?"

"Couple days ago, a family of four was set to die by blizzard, but just after a Reaper came to collect their souls, something changed. They all survived instead."

"Huh. That's nice, I guess. Heartwarming. How about we put it on the short tales leaf?"

"Might as well make it the main grape. We have nothing else to report anyway."

"True."

  


**Next Time:** _The second time, Jack was eleven years old, a goofball, and swinging on tree branches too high to be swung on. That was the day when he first realized just how special his staff really was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra side note: Yes, I know it's "You've done well", but I had this image in my head - probably from some old 1700s-set movie I saw - that Mr. Overland would use "good" instead. Idk why, but I'm keeping it anyway.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Whether or not you enjoyed this chapter, be sure to leave some reviews so I know what not to do next time or what you'd like for me to do. :)
> 
> Until next time.
> 
> \- xoxo Jo


End file.
